


The Narcissist's Cookbook

by GlovesForThis



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bill Cipher is gross, Character Study, Coercive Behavior, Dark, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Sexual Content, Smut, Statutory Rape, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 21:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlovesForThis/pseuds/GlovesForThis
Summary: Fate has placed Dipper Pines directly into Bill's hands, and he intends on taking what's been offered. After all, Bill Cipher is accustomed to getting everything he could ever want at the snap of a finger.Before the wanted posters and the careless killing, another timeline begins.





	The Narcissist's Cookbook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~"plaid shortie caught sniffing my shirt"~~   
>  **"dipper"**
> 
>   * 3 cups personal charm
>   * 1 1/2 cups isolation
>   * at least two inhibition-lowering substances
>   * 1/3 cup devoted attention
>   * 3 tablespoons "romance", pair with 1 teaspoon of "understanding"
>   * a dash of manipulation for compliance
>   * sprinkling of parental disapproval, makes the rebellion come out
>   * as needed: conversations, visits, gifts to establish trust
> 


Thinking he'd fit in at any party—even a cast and crew party—had been an abysmal miscalculation, unless awkwardly lingering in the back of the room while distracting himself with his phone didn't justify deeming this a failure of a social venture.

The cast was the center of the event, chatting it up, raising the noise levels of not only the room but the building in its entirety with their seemingly endless energy and extroversion. They were boisterous and restless, playfully slinging jabs at one another over the last performance of musical. They were students of the college's theater department who likely all knew one another's favorite color, so it wasn't completely unexpected that they preferred company among themselves over hanging around the handful of high school students helping with the stage crew side of the production.

Highlights of his evening included a few scattered discussions with fellow crew members, two slices of pizza, reading a particularly fascinating article on his phone, and watching Bill Cipher. One of those may have been more creepy than the others, but Dipper digressed: any interaction with the guy, direct or otherwise, automatically made observation a socially acceptable activity because, well… Bill was worth watching.

Slicked blond hair, a feral smirk, and movements like a jungle cat, languid and confident, were the guy's starter pack, a deep drive toward entertaining others and outgoing behavior being close seconds. He'd had everyone, director and stage crew too, charmed in the first week with his witty comments and larger-than-life attitude, meanwhile the Hollywood handsomeness probably didn't hurt.

Logic aside, charisma lured Dipper into a crush he'd tried to deny for the longest time. Moonstruck stares during practice? Not a chance. No, he wasn't seeking out opportunities to give Bill his props, and obviously, he wasn't secretly hoping for the stars' alignment to cross paths with him or feel butterflies thinking about how a romance between them would look. The crush certainly hadn't become unbearable after he'd discretely ( _stupidly_ , in hindsight) sniffed Bill's shirt in the dressing room to satiate his curiosity, and even that had fallen through — the memory of spicy honey still made him dizzy with giddiness and shame. Good thing Bill hadn't witnessed that particularly atrocious display, that'd be death by embarrassment.

Worse yet, the sinking feeling that his excitement over technical theater and this production had been partially Bill's presence, and it was almost done. The after-party was their final gathering, the same party in which he'd been watching from the sidelines as if he was the audience rather than part of the production's success, and he was quickly losing any courage he'd had in the first place. There was no approaching the guy who was engaging more than half of the room in magic tricks, a repertoire of jokes, and obscure trivia about theater.

It was pointless, so he left.

Sitting on the steps outside of the performing arts building, Dipper browsed through his phone; not much of an upgrade from doing the same at the party, but at least here it wouldn't be labeled as social incompetence. Some teen waiting a while to text his father for a ride home wouldn't be suspicious, and explanations of how he was unsuccessful at striking up conversations with primarily college-age students could be avoided.

When he heard the creak of the door, Dipper didn't glance up from the screen, uninterested. But that rapidly changed as a shadow loomed over him, tall and lanky, and what was supposed to be a casual check over his shoulder turned into full-out gawking because it wasn't just anyone.

Leaping to his feet at the sight of Bill, his pulse hammered in his throat and he fumbled with his phone as he messily tried to stuff it into his back pocket.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the plaid shortie! What’re you doing out here, kid?”

Nervously laughing for a reason he couldn't discern, Dipper tugged at the ends of his sleeves and then clasped his hands behind his back, leaning forward while his shoes scuffed against a concrete step.

"I, uh, hey. Bill, right?" Of course it was Bill, Bill Cipher. Star of the musical. Dipper had heard his name hundreds of times. "I'm just— I was checking my phone, taking a break from the party and everything." 'Going home' was a more honest answer, but the mere thought of voicing that had him internally cringing in sympathy for himself.

“Yeah, the party’s pretty lame,” Bill said. “I wish there was something more exciting going on tonight. It’d be a hell of a lot more enjoyable than this snore.” He fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, sliding one from the carton and lighting it as Dipper's mind swam with confusion, his head tilted.

"Really? I mean, I thought you were having a good time with everyone." As he spoke, he recognized that his "half-hunched over" posture didn't exactly invite friendly conversation and consciously forced himself to uncurl, leaning his elbows against the brick railing framing the steps. Clearing his throat, he added quieter, "They seemed to be having a good time with you."

“No,” Bill said. “Everything gets bland after so much time of magic tricks and shit. If you have to initiate the fun as a guest, it’s not a party.”

"Yeah, I— ...that's why I left. Kind of." The ardent agreement to ally himself with Bill's opinion wasn't as truthful as it could have been, but Dipper thought it was an appropriate reality to tweak, made him sound better than confessing he had nobody to talk to and had planned on simply going home soon.

Bill blew smoke into the air. “Are you going back in?” he asked. “Or is this it for you tonight?”

He hesitated, throat working. "I don't know, I might… bail and try to find something better to do with my evening. It's not that I didn't like working with you guys— the cast and the crew during the production. It was tons of fun, but yeah." In the silence that trailed after with Bill smoking and Dipper fidgeting against the bricks, he broke it to ask, "How, uh, was it, by the way? Being the lead. I don't think I could ever do that, get up in front of everybody and stuff."

He glanced at him, smoke billowing from his mouth, and Dipper was momentarily transfixed by the relaxed, knowing curve of his pale lips. “It’s not for everyone,” he said. “But I enjoy it. Everyone has their attention on me.”

Dipper laughed. In retrospect, way longer than he should have. But Bill wasn't giving him more than a semi-amused glance, so he supposed he couldn't have done too badly. Coughing to stifle the now-anxious chuckling, he averted his gaze and tried to recollect his thoughts in a brain buzzing with variations of: _my crush is talking to me_.

Thoughtfully, he supplied, "I guess that might not _only_ be because you are—were—the lead, though. It's, uh—" he smiled, uncertain, "it's you, dude." Sense escaping him, Dipper didn't know how to explain better than that, how to voice that Bill's attitude was naturally attractive to everyone in the vicinity, his confidence entrancing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bill raised his eyebrow at him, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his foot.

"Everybody loves you, man." From the directors that were captivated by his skill and charisma, to his peers that seemingly felt they were all his best friends, and then the high schoolers who'd hushedly whisper about him. Bill was never without a personal entourage, a flock of admirers essentially, and it was strange to see him alone.

Actually, that was _incredibly_ strange, and something didn't feel right about it.

Bill hummed. “Everyone, huh? I don’t know about that, kid.”

"What do you mean? You're, like..." he gestured vaguely, "amazing, y'know?"

“I’m sure not _everyone_ thinks I’m the best,” he answered, winking at him and bringing a searing warmth to Dipper's cheeks. “But I know I am.”

Fingertips brushing over the back of his neck, he referenced an earlier source of slight confusion. "So, are you going back inside soon? Because your friends— well, they're probably waiting on you since you were basically keeping the party alive."

“Nah, I’m gonna head off soon. Those losers can enjoy the shitty party without me. Are you still thinking about bailing?”

"I don't have anything to stick around for," he said, kicking the back of his heel against the barrier idly. "I'll probably be going home in a bit, but… hey, it was nice being able to talk to you." Realizing how that sounded, Dipper felt his cheeks heating again and elaborated, "Sorry— I know that sounds weird, sort of. I've just… been thinking you seemed like a nice guy, that's all."

Bill nodded. “It’s nice to talk to you too. If you’re going home, I can always take you there if you want. We can talk more on the way?”

"Oh, I actually—" About to say that he had a ride arranged, Dipper stopped short and reconsidered. This was a golden ticket to continue talking to Bill, the idea sending butterflies free in the pit of his stomach, and he had been about to reject it like a moron. Beam brimming with shy jubilation, he corrected his earlier statement, "I'd like that."

“Come on, let’s get in my car.”

"Your car?" he questioned, then inwardly cringed at himself. "Right, forgot you probably drive."

“What else would we do?” he asked. “Walk? My car’s here, kid. That wouldn’t make sense.”

"I live in Richman, so it wouldn't be that hard to walk, but I get why you wouldn't want to have to come all the way back to the university to collect your vehicle." With a glance toward the parking lot, he asked, "Are you sure, though? You don't have to. I have a ride that can be here in a bit."

“It’s not an issue,” he told him. “I’d like to drive you home, if that’s not a problem?”

"No, no, it's fine," he reassured with a mosuy grin flashed in Bill's direction, but his was nothing in comparison to Bill's dazzling smile, his puffed chest, his posture exuding undaunted boldness. Nearly forgetting what they'd planned on doing, he tripped over his words, "Do… you, uh, want to go?"

Bill’s smirk grew, and he was already heading toward the parking lot. Distracted by watching Bill's graceful movements, he was shaken by his prompt, “Yes. Are you ready?”

Dipper scampered after.

Driving with Bill was a surreal experience, and they conversed about the project, about university and high school, the city. Now, Dipper was immersed in the very important activity of gazing at Bill affectionately while he recounted one of his many theater stories.

“...and this asshole comes backstage to try to get us to laugh while in a bear costume? He got someone else to dress in an owl costume and they mimicked furry sex. The humping, the moans, the fake orgasms.”

"Jeez, that's…" he laughed softly, "wow. In high school? So that was—" Curiosity chased mental calculation, and he inquired, "...when was that for you?"

“Three, four years ago. My senior year was a riot.”

Trying to hide his disappointment, he clarified, "You're twenty-one?"

“Stars, I’m not _that_ old. Twenty.”

The response deflated him, unaware Bill was that much older than he was. He'd been thinking nineteen or so, more like hoping, since that was approximately the cutoff of where it'd be plausible— he shook the thoughts away, there were more obvious reasons why Bill wouldn't be interested in him, and he scolded himself for getting so wrapped up in this when all he'd done was make discussion and provide a lift home. Neither of which were promising in the least but an already ridiculous crush had blown it out of proportion.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. You don't look old or anything, you look…" his eyes darted, and he coughed, shrugging. "You look good, like.. handsome." Playing that off as a standard compliment seemed to be victorious because Bill wasn't staring at him like he'd grown an extra head or stepped woefully outside of social boundaries.

“Handsome, huh?” Bill glanced at him. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Dipper giggled—goddamn _giggled_ , Jesus—but his amusement faded once he realized Bill wasn't joining in the mirth. The realization was startling and had his head spinning as it failed to compute. Dipper blinked at him, and his face went ashen before flushing with a brilliant redness because if he wasn't laughing, that meant...

"Wait, you're... are you being serious?"

“Why wouldn’t I be serious?”

Impossibly flustered, Dipper's shoulders curved inward and his entire frame tensed, now uncertain of how to perceive this interaction since it didn't appear to be an elaborate prank either. "I don't know, I don't get that a lot? So I thought you were joking."

“I’m being honest with you. You’re delightful. Cuter than a button.”

The sentiment forced an involuntarily squeak from him, ruffled but undeniably flattered because Bill Cipher, _his crush Bill Cipher_ , thought he was delightful— cuter than a button, and he was pretty sure his heart was going to burst with glee considering his smile couldn't get any wider while the butterflies in his stomach had dispersed throughout his entire body.

“Which house was it, again? The white one on the left?”

"Yeah," he responded but was still dazed, grinning dopily even as they pulled into the long driveway that stretched before a mid-sized home. "Thanks for the ride, by the way. I know I said it before, but it was nice to finally talk to you."

“If you wanted to hang out again,” Bill began, “there’s a college party going on near campus Saturday night. We can go together.”

"What? We?" he asked, still caught up in the fact Bill had said 'we.' _We_ implied both of them, him and Bill, but that couldn't be right. There was no possibility he actually intended that. His eyebrows were furrowed in thought while he motioned to the space between them. "You mean.. us?"

“Who else would I be talking about?”

"Really? Like, seriously? I— I mean, I'd be happy to go," he answered quickly, no longer caring if he sounded overly eager. "I guess I'm not exactly a party animal, but I could come with, if you still wanted me to."

“Of course I do. It’s a date, I’ll pick you up at nine. What can I call you?”

"Oh, you can call me anytime," he said dreamily, then it caught up to him that it hadn't been what Bill had said. At all. And Dipper rushed to fix it, "My name's Dipper— well, Mason, but everybody calls me Dipper. You can use whatever you like better."

“Dipper,” he repeated. “I like it. I’ll pick you up, alright?”

"Alright," he said but how could he have replied with anything else? In the span of a conversation sustained during their drive, playful comments and flirty banter solidified the crush, imprinted it onto his soul because he didn't think there was any escape. Climbing from the passenger seat, Dipper turned around to wave and promise, "I'll see you then!"

“See you around, cutie." Dipper had been about to continue toward the front door, but Bill added, "Try not to sniff anyone elses’ shirt in the meantime! I wouldn't want them discovering how damn adorable you are, then stealing you from me.”

* * *

Saturday came, and the college party was thousands of times better than the wrap party. Bill was in the zone, hitting it off and chatting it up with his fellow students while ensuring his Dipper was satisfied with another beer. The kid was probably accustomed to lame high school parties with half-assed attempts at being wild, but he was holding his own decently considering these guests were older and rowdier, louder. Drunker too, but that gap was slowly closing since Dipper had been making braver progress on the second beer that Bill had fetched for him after he'd finished his first.

Oh, yes. This was exactly where he wanted him to be. Vulnerable so Bill could woo him, lower his guard down to make taking him all the smoother.

Music blared in the background, some people had been dancing—grinding on one another—but that'd died off as the night trudged on. Now, most were sitting in groups with their friends and conversing, yelling, laughing over the sound of the beat. Bill had shown him around, introduced him to a few people, but that had given way to discussion of nothing specific on the host's dingy sofa while Bill had his arm over his shoulders to usher him in tightly.

"What time is it?" Dipper asking, leaning into his side and taking another sip from the almost-empty bottle.

“It’s around eleven,” Bill responded, holding back a smirk as he gazed at Dipper, whose eyes were glassy as they drifted around the room flooded with people, sooty eyelashes fanned over flushed cheeks. This one would do just fine. Bill knew he wasn’t legal, couldn't be considering he'd claimed to be a high school freshman somewhere along the line during their chats, but it was hard to not be aroused by the sight. He wasn’t even tipsy yet, and the kid already was getting physically comfortable around him. He knew Dipper had a crush on him but _hot damn_ , if he had known how effortless it’d be to get him to relax, he’d have started sooner. Impress the kid, make him want Bill as much as Bill wanted him.

A gentle hum tumbled out, lackadaisical and barely audible over the music. "Feels later."

“Are you feeling okay?” Bill asked him, feigning concern. “It’s only been two hours since we got here. It’s not that much later.”

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine," he replied, then a brief flicker of uncertainty crossed his soft features. "If you want to enjoy the party with your friends, I don't mind. You don't have to stay by me, and I hope you don't feel like you need to. It's… like I said, I'm not really a party-person."

“Sugar, I want to be with you during this party. If I wanted to be with them, I would’ve come with them.”

That seemed to satisfy Dipper enough to bring the worries to a halt, or perhaps it was the third beer that silenced them. Either way, he'd lost his uptight posture and appeared more leisurely, a tilted smile forming on his lips and hanging there as they made idle conversation while the bottle's contents gradually disappeared. The first one had taken ten minutes to coax the kid into taking a sip, then it'd inched downward for about an hour. The second, thirty minutes. This one, fifteen.

When he reached the bottom of the bottle, that signaled it was time for him to make a move.

“Hey, doll,” he reached over to take his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

That was how they ended up cruising in Bill's car, top down, the stars glittering in the sky above the city lights in a never-ending blanket overhead. Starstruck, Dipper appeared transfixed on the sights, utterly in love with the scenery. And from the looks he'd been shooting him for the past ten minutes, that affection seemed to extend to him.

"It's so pretty out here, man," he said from the passenger seat, legs kicked on the dashboard while he reclined in a boneless heap. "I like this a lot better than the party, honestly. Just… being here with you."

Bill could hardly contain a grin. “I like being here with you, too. It’s nice, isn’t it?” So nice that soon, Dipper would be relaxed enough around him. The cozier he got, the easier it’d be. “Those parties, they get boring after a while.”

"Yeah, it's nice," came the awed confirmation and on cue, the glance at him that spoke of budding appreciation. "It's hard to talk over the music, I guess. This is a lot better, kind of peaceful. Are we going anywhere in particular, or…?"

“I figured we could drive around, maybe look at the stars. Nowhere specific. Unless you had a place in mind, cutie?”

The idea of stargazing had seemed to capture his intrigue with those bright eyes flicking from him to the shimmering sky, but his enthusiasm lost its edge after a second or two of observation. "They're hard to see in the city with all of the lights. Do you think… we could go a few miles out? Maybe to Tongva Valley or Raton Canyon, or something."

Going out of the city alone with the kid? Bill liked that thought. It was something they’d need to do again, for… some bonding time. “Of course. We’ll go to Tongva Valley tonight, should be a piece of cake to find a spot." He wouldn’t take him too far out, not when he needed him to feel safe.

The drive didn’t take long, and Bill pulled his car over to park off road. “We’re here,” he said. “Would you like to join me in the back? We can gaze at the stars better.”

"In the back?" he inquired as if he didn't understand initially, then nodded when it registered. "Oh, sure." Dipper didn't waste time, unclipping his seat belt to scurry over the console between the seats; for someone who was unbelievably awkward in most situations, the graceful transition from the front to the back of the vehicle was impressive, especially with the alcohol in his system. Bill narrowed his eyes, watching his tiny ass as it disappeared over the console. Nice. With such a lithe figure, he couldn’t help but wonder how tight he was. How inviting.

The thoughts vanished as Bill exited the vehicle, having to enter through the backdoor. “You look cute,” he told him as he eyed his small frame, relishing in the flattered noise while he scooted toward Dipper. It was like Bambi gathering his limbs, how he pulled himself inward into a curled position and kept a healthy distance between them, somehow appearing skittish despite the traces of intoxication.

Ducking his head to hide the blush dotting the apples of his cheeks, he returned the compliment through a murmur, "You look good too. So, the stars— um, do you know anything about them?"

“No,” he answered. “Maybe if things with theater don’t work out, I’ll look into astronomy. Stars are great.” Bill shrugged as he laid on the seat, pulling Dipper on top of him. “They’re nice, aren’t they?”

There was a light agreement relayed through a distracted hum, but Dipper's eyes weren't on the stars anymore; they were trained on him, wide and diffident, likely piecing together why they were now in this position rather than sitting to stargaze. Bill had to admit he enjoyed this significantly more, the kid shyly warming up to it as he curled in closer under his possessive grasp. "I like looking at them with you."

“It’s wonderful,” Bill said. Not as wonderful as Dipper. How adorable he was, with his face lit up under the moonlight. Bill could kiss him. Then fuck him. Trust first, submission later. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”

Confused, he paused, evaluated. Peered over his shoulder as if there was a third person that Bill had to be talking to because it couldn't possibly be him. "You think so?" Although restrained, he sounded giddy and shifted to become comfortable, resting his head on his chest. "Thanks." Cosmos and constellations, he was so thin, so fragile. Bony as all hell, but Bill could keep it together as long as those sharp elbows didn't find his gut again.

After a few seconds, Dipper spoke again, "I guess I never thought I'd be here with you. It's kind of weird to think that… well, not that long ago I couldn't even talk to you, you were so—" he motioned indiscriminately, "and I'm just me." Just him? If by that, he meant cute, gullible, and a breeze to fuck.

“You’re perfect,” he said and saw the melt of adoration, but the visible effects of the alcohol still clung to him in how his eyelids drooped. “You’re more than ‘just you.’” He was an ideal candidate for all the fantasies Bill grew up with. And oh, this would be a treat. Bill was certain he was a virgin, maybe never kissed.

With a sound of fawning, Dipper nuzzled into the crook of his neck but tensed, second guessing himself by asking, "Wait, is this okay? If not, I… I'm fine with moving, but I thought maybe—"

“No, this is fine. You’re fine.” Bill smiled, and he saw Dipper do the same, albeit exhaustedly. He was getting _cozier_ , a good sign to indicate his plan was working. Bill shifted his hands, running them down Dipper’s back. He was soft, warm. Bill had made a good choice.

The touch didn't elicit much of a reaction aside from a delicate shiver, but he did yawn and flutter his eyes closed. "What're you doing?" he asked into his collarbone, curious but not opposed, so Bill didn't think he would have to put the brakes on.

“I’m touching your back,” he answered innocently. “Are you okay with that, doll?”

"I'm okay with it. It feels… relaxing," he reported through an indolent sigh, deliciously compliant in letting his hands wander over his plaid shirt and leaving Bill to imagine what would be beneath it.

Bill took that as a sign he could continue, so he did, tracing gentle circles into the fabric. It didn’t take long for him to hear the change in Dipper’s breathing, see how unresponsive he’d become due to falling asleep. Whoops. He shouldn’t have let him drink so much, but he wagered that it wasn’t a huge issue since there were plenty of nights ahead of them.

* * *

Although his home had disappeared into the distance several minutes ago, Dipper was still riding the euphoric high of being _on an actual date_ and that actual date was with Bill Cipher. It truly felt like a date too, with Bill bringing him flowers and giving him a chaste kiss on the top of his head in the doorway, the gentlemanly behavior sparking feelings of unadulterated fondness.

The moment had been ruined by his father calling to him, asking who was at the door, but Dipper had responded with a vague "no one, Dad!" and promises of being back later before leaving.

So far, he was having the time of his life in the passenger seat of Bill's car. The radio was on in the background, and their discussion was light-hearted and enjoyable. It was easy to be himself with Bill.

“Cutie,” Bill began, transitioning away from their discussion about their hobbies. “You know what we should do? Dinner’s nice, but another party would be even better. ”

Reluctant, his eyebrows hitched. "Your friends are throwing another party? I never knew college students were such partygoers."

“They’re different friends,” Bill explained, and Dipper's uncertainty grew, fidgeting. “I think you’ll like it, it’s more inviting than a party with Bud Light.”

"What do you mean?"

“They have a little more class than broke-ass college kids who can only afford some of the cheapest beer on the market.”

"Wait, is this a fancy thing?" he asked suddenly and glanced downward at himself in concern, flattening his shirt as if that'd swap casual attire to a full formal suit. "Sorry, I didn't know. I don't think I'm dressed for that kind of party, but we can still do dinner if you want."

“It’s not _fancy_ , it’s just more classy than that. Relax, sugar. You can come, and you don’t need to worry about being dressed for it.” From Bill's definitive tone, it was clear they were going to the party, and dinner was an afterthought at best that'd been written out of the night's script.

"Okay," he agreed. Parties weren't his scene, attempts at socialization were awkward and occasionally rivaling disastrous events of history, but he didn't want to be viewed as disagreeable, not when this was still _the_ Bill Cipher, a date with him no less. Whatever he could do to impress, he wasn't going to back down.

Attention sliding from his thoughts into the present, he pressed the pads of his fingers to his lap, shuffling nervously. "A classy party," he repeated, "so… what's the occasion? Who's throwing it?"

“A few friends of mine. I’ll introduce you to them when we get there.” Bill flashed him a grin. “You’ll like them.”

He hoped so.

* * *

The venue was infinitely more impressive, and with a decent amount of certainty, he could conclude it didn't belong to Bill's college friends since the estate was huge, looming. The lawn was vast but proportionally appropriate to the mansion, brightly decorated with regal lights.

Inside was like a dream. Everything was elegant and huge and unbelievable, far from what he'd expect for a party. The music was refined, the atmosphere was high class but mellow, and he was worried he'd fit in even less here than he had at the other event. However, Bill didn't seem to share his concerns and ushered him over to sit while he fetched beverages for them. His had been extended with a promise that it'd help him relax and although it didn't taste like alcohol, Bill was right. It wasn't long after that he felt steadily more receptive to the energy around him, socialization coming easier than the first few attempts that'd ended in awkwardness and a handshake.

The hours and faces flew by, but the one that remained constant was unendingly charming and polite, always checking in with him, ensuring he was comfortable. Dipper wished he'd known Bill long before the end of the production; he couldn't have asked for anyone sweeter, and he considered himself fortunate. It seemed another party guest agreed with him after they exchanged introductions, as he commented:

"Bill? Sure, real keeper. The guy's a piece of work, but he ain't bad once ya get to know 'im. If ya get into a drinkin' contest with him, he'll give ya a run for your money."

The guest's companion had cut in, "Do you honestly believe that's the advice you should be giving?"

In reply, he'd grumbled, "Ah, shut it. Nobody wants ta hear your nerd talk about things like 'safety' and 'responsibility.'" With hardly a pause in between, he moved on and asked, "Hey, kid. Where'd ya say you were from? Must be this booze or somethin' playing tricks on me, but ya look real like this guy I used to know, kind of weird'n shit."

"You two!" A new voice barked, but an underlying friendliness accompanied the rough greeting, its source an older man with kind eyes and a similar set of features as the other two, leading Dipper to wonder if they were related. "I've been looking everywhere. Come on, we have guests to impress."

As the three departed together, Dipper heard the one muttering under his breath, "Did'ya see that kid? Ya can't tell me it's just my imagination, don't ya think he looks like—?" Obviously about him, but despite how hard he strained, he couldn't hear what he'd said.

Afterward, he was relieved to be tucked in the passenger seat of Bill's car, away from the excitement and bustle of the party, and driving in mindless routes around the city. Everything looked more intense, more colorful, as if he was experiencing sensory input more vividly. The stars didn't just shine, they were glittering dots that gleamed in the royal blue sky above a hundred thousand kaleidoscopic city lights rushing by them in the cool of the night.

"Where are we going?" he asked, but it barely registered that it was himself speaking since it sounded muted and distant, an odd contrast to the other aspects of his senses that couldn't be more confrontational.

“I’m taking you home,” Bill said. “Party’s over, cutie.”

"Okay." Immense amounts of environmental feedback didn't stop him from noticing the problem with that, namely the direction they were headed in wasn't a viable route to his home. "This isn't— I live in Richman, remember? It's west of here."

“We’re not going to your house,” Bill corrected him. “We’re going to mine.”

"Your house?" he questioned, the prospect stirring feelings of uncertainty and excitement.

The former may as well have never existed because upon seeing Bill's home several minutes later, Dipper's eyes widened with an astonished gasp, peering in disbelief between Bill and the home—stylish architecture covered an extensive amount of ground, and he couldn't comprehend _that_ belonging to his boyfriend. Or any one person since it looked like it was fit for three families. "This is actually yours?"

Bill grinned, glancing at him. “One of many. Do you like it?”

"Wow, _yeah_ ," he said, still stunned.

The walls were high and loomed with windows overlooking what appeared to be a garden and pool, meanwhile the inside was almost beyond words. The chandelier lit an expansive room filled with off-white furniture: rugs, a grand piano, a sofa, armchairs, another sofa... The television and fireplace were bigger than any he'd encountered before. It was hard to believe he was only seeing the living room, and there was a winding staircase that led to an additional floor matching this level of luxury.

“If you like this,” Bill said. “I’ll let you design another one we’ll live in.”

"Wait, what?" he asked, laughing at it because it was so purely absurd that he couldn't think of a scenario in which it'd be reality. It seemed fast for them—they hadn't been together _that long_ , admittedly—but the thrilling thought of living together, having an actual existence that intertwined, drowned out the cautionary voice nagging at him.

Before Bill could elaborate, Dipper noticed two dogs cuddled in a giant pet bed and melted at the sight, wishing he could approach but unwilling to do so without approval from Bill first. "You have dogs?" From how he spoke, it was evident that he was instantly enamored. "They're cute."

“Buttercup and Poppy,” he spoke their names with glee. “You can pet them if you want."

Equipped with permission, Dipper knelt near the dogs that raised their heads in curiosity but otherwise seemed completely calm, stroking through waves of golden fur. He mumbled a few honeyed words to them, internally gushing about how they adorably sought out his hand for more pets even after he'd retracted it, and he rested his giddy smile on Bill. "They seem sweet."

“They’re my sweet little girls,” he told him. “If anyone hurt them, I’d have to erase them from existence.”

That… was a little darker than he'd thought his response would be, but he supposed he understood. They seemed like lovely dogs, and as much as he wished he could resume bathing them in affection, he continued exploring the living room. There were many framed photos on the wall of Bill and his dogs, showcasing their memories together, and very few of human family members. "Are these your parents?" he asked awkwardly as he squinted at one of the photographs, a man and woman in close proximity but somehow… distant.

“Not for long.”

"What?"

“I said yes, dear. They just don’t visit much. Not that I’d want them to.”

"Oh, that's… Sorry to hear that," he said and dropped the subject, unsure if it was a sensitive one. Yawning, he stepped from the collection of framed memories and instead paused in the middle of the room, awaiting direction from Bill. He didn't think it was polite to snoop around as much as he wanted to, and he still wasn't sure why he was here. "It's getting kind of late…" he pointed out, "Are you taking me back tonight?"

“You don’t want to stay here?” Bill questioned, fingers curling over his waist. “I thought we could spend some time together.”

"You want me to stay overnight?" he clarified and felt a little naive since he hadn't realized that was the plan to begin with, yet it seemed obvious in hindsight. "Well, yeah— okay, I guess we can do that. Do you have a bedroom I can stay in? I'm guessing there are at least five of them." It was supposed to be a joke, as indicated by his chuckle, but it wasn't an exaggeration when the residence seemed huge.

“We’re going to be sharing a room,” he answered. “And yes, sugar, that includes the bed.”

Although his face was of priceless scandal, he grew accustomed to the idea as Bill let him tour the master bedroom, warmly lit and extensive, with a king-sized bed and another fireplace surrounded by its own sitting area. It was stunning, the attached walk-in closet, all of it elegant and spacious, unbelievable.

From there, Dipper requested a shower and was escorted to the connecting master bathroom, in which he enjoyed a decently long and relaxing stream of water rushing over his skin, rejuvenating him. By the time he stepped out, he saw Bill had left him something to wear: it was clearly his from how the shirt slid beyond his hands and curved over his pale thighs, but it was comfortable and surrounded him with Bill's scent.

Standing in the entryway of the bathroom, Dipper saw Bill was reading in the light of the bedside lamp, partially dipped under the silky sheets. It was a serene sight, and he padded over to join him by slipping into bed beside Bill, burrowing under the covers. "Hey," he greeted quietly, watching him with subdued intrigue.

Bill glanced from his book, flashing a smile. “Hello, cutie. Did you have a nice shower?”

"It was good," he said, shrugging and hearing the rustle of the fabric. "I didn't know they even made bathrooms that big, but yeah, I liked it. How was…" Dipper's eyes flicked over Bill and landed on his book, "reading?"

Bill set the book down on his nightstand with one hand, the other slowly peeling away the sheets resting on him like he was some delicacy waiting to be unwrapped. “Not as interesting as you are.”

"Hm? You think so?" Enchanted, he ducked his head to hide the blush with a shy smile on his lips. "Thanks, you're… You're interesting too. Do you want to sleep? I mean, that party was kind of longer than I thought it'd be, and I'm getting sort of tired."

“I was thinking we could do something much more.. productive.”

The prospect of sleep had been appealing, but he was again alert at the implication that Bill wished to do something else. "Okay." As soon as the word was out, Bill was pinning him down gently with his weight as he kissed him, and Dipper was too stunned to do anything but hold his breath.

Until his mind caught up to him and he realized _Bill Cipher_ was kissing him, and he tentatively started to return it, movements a little awkward and clumsy against Bill's lips. However, it still sent shivers of delight down his spine to spread throughout the entirety of his being, the concept of sharing this moment of physical intimacy flustering him. It was accompanied by a warmth that emanated from the pit of his stomach and filled him with fuzziness.

When they parted, Dipper gasped softly for air before remembering that was a rookie move, and sheepishly smiled at Bill. "That was really nice," he said earnestly, peering at Bill through his lashes and quite frankly, hoping he would continue. Little sparks of excitement were igniting within him like firecrackers at the sight of Bill poised above him like this, and he raised his legs, hesitating, but then framed Bill's waist with his thighs. It was a coy invitation.

Bill chuckled, capturing Dipper in a gentle embrace as he shifted, beginning to rub his groin against him. “You like this?” he questioned between breaths, Dipper's falling into rhythm with his, and the response was a hum of approval.

"Can we— maybe, if you want, we could keep kissing?" he suggested as their eyes met, hopeful. Bill smirked, slotting their mouths together again, this time deeper, movements more forceful as he continued to grind into Dipper. And Dipper was enjoying every second of it, a moan falling easily from his lips only to be muffled by the kiss as his hands explored Bill's back, fingertips digging into his skin involuntarily when a burst of shivers swept over him.

The sensation proving to be better than anything he could ever give himself, but he wasn't sure if that was because it involved another person, or because that person was _Bill_ , his crush who seemingly had an interest in him beyond a friendly one. Well, considering they were doing this—making out and grinding while admittedly lascivious noises spilled from him—he certainly hoped that was the case.

The friction was delicious, and he wanted more, more of it, more of Bill, more of everything; he yearned to feel him close and craved his dominance, loved how Bill took charge of this exchange. He hadn't thought kissing until his lips were swollen and being pinned beneath someone could be this amazing, but now his hips were bucking up to frantically chase the contact as he neared his peak.

Bill didn’t stop, reciprocating at a quicker pace to double the friction between them, and he was overwhelmed by the flood of pleasure, of Bill's rhythmic thrusts against him a constant exemplification of the power and brawn. A gasp later, Dipper was consumed by a mind-blowing climax and a cry of Bill's name burst from him. And slowly, he came down from the euphoric high while Bill coaxed him through it with the slow rocking of his hips.

“Did you enjoy that?” he questioned lovingly, the pressure ceasing. Dazzled by the intensity of his release, Dipper was still shuddering from the aftershocks but managed a numb nod, opening his eyes to the sight of Bill hovered over him, and he somehow convinced his puddle-esque body to rebuild enough to deliver an affectionate kiss to his lips.

“Good,” Bill said as he pulled back, thumbing at the hem of his boxers. “You’re going to return the favor, cutie.”

"What?" His mind only now connected that Bill hadn't finished since the cloud shrouding his judgment dissipated. "What do you want me to do?"

“I want you to suck me off.”

"Like, your…" Dipper's eyes flicked downward, then up to Bill again with an astonished inhale when he saw the knowing smirk, the little nod. " _Oh_. Um, okay— how? Sorry, I… I've never done this. Do you want me to—?" Before finishing the sentence, he squirmed out from underneath Bill and was waiting on his haunches atop the downy sheets, keen to please.

Boxers removed, Bill laid back and motioned for Dipper to come closer, yet he was too transfixed by the sight of him without his clothing to register the instructions. “Already so eager, sugar? It’s simple. Put your mouth around my dick, don’t bite it, and let me fuck your throat.”

"I think I got it, maybe." Not really, it had been white noise in the background as he had been admiring Bill. Guided by theoretical knowledge, Dipper nestled between his thighs to lick the underside of his cock using the flat of his tongue, then waited to gauge Bill's expression for any sign of approval but received a grunt and a gesture indicating to continue.

Engulfing the head with his mouth, Dipper slowly took in more and more until he was partway down the shaft and determined that was the extent of what he could handle. Breathing shallowly, he paused, once again searching for a reaction from Bill, who bucked up against him in what he presumed was an encouragement. Although he wanted to ask if it was okay or even good, that wasn't possible under the circumstances, so Dipper opted to keep going considering Bill didn't seem opposed, merely impatient.

Drawing away then sinking down again, he built an experimental pace to recall— oh, right, he was supposed to be sucking. Dipper applied a slight suction as he worked and Bill groaned, jerking his hips. The back of his throat responded with a gag, so he shot Bill a fleeting look of distress to silently beg that he stop doing that because not only did it mess with his rhythm, but it hurt.

Luckily, the interaction smoothed as they proceeded. The noises were music to his ears as he wrung sounds from Bill, falling into a decently-adroit rate and occasionally deploying his tongue at Bill's insisting reminders. Despite his best efforts, he still couldn't fit the entirety into his mouth and pumped what remained by hand, trying to harmonize the synchronization of each.

Although still clumsy, it was significantly better by the time Bill was eventually edging to the end and grasping his hair to urge him downward, then finishing with a few harsh thrusts that had Dipper coughing once they parted.

The snuggling afterward made amends for the roughness, as it was surprisingly relaxing and tender. Bill pulled Dipper in to spoon him, and fondly kissed his neck, his shoulders, murmuring sweet nothings and words of appreciation.

The rest of the night was best described as an intermittent mission of sleep and sexual exploits until they were too exhausted to do anything but stay collapsed on the king-sized bed. Dipper loved every second. Whenever Bill's hungry eyes settled on him or he woke to kisses that turned into makeouts, he couldn't resist, was happy to oblige and give Bill whatever he desired of him. The praises, the sugary sentiments, the calm reassurances made him feel like a lifetime of his self esteem's destruction had been erased, and Bill was everything he could ever hope for in a boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a small threeshot to explore a younger Bill & Dipper in a world reminiscent of RRH’s but is a standalone piece. Title is not intended to imply all people with NPD are like this.
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3


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